Always a Way Out
by SPRCapricorn98
Summary: Gleam is the mighty black Icelandic Pony herd stallion. His herd, small to begin with, is trapped in a valley while a storm rages on, threatening to freeze and starve the Icelandic ponies to death. Gleam is forced to find a way for his herd to get out of the valley before all is lost. Can this majestic stallion save his herd, and his own life?


_**Always a Way Out**_

The Wind howled and the Rain pounded the earth. Clouds rolled overhead and Thunder shook the earth. Deep in the valley, surrounded by tall cliffs and ridges and trapped by fallen trees was the small herd of wild ponies. They huddled together against the cold and breathed their warm breaths onto each others frozen bodies. A tail whisked here and there and an ear twitched, but everything else was still and silent.  
The Wind made yet another tree topple over, almost crushing the youngest member of the herd-a newborn bay colt with one white sock and black mane and tail-underneath it. The colt's mother pushed her tiny son closer in against the rest of the herd, using her own dark bay body to shield the poor foal. The Rain bore down on the tiny herd and drenched them all. Water droplets fell from noses, lips, and manes. Tail, stinging from the cold, slashed at bodies, trying to stay warm. One horse dropped to the ground. A second followed. The two horses lay motionless amidst the crowd of five other horses and their foals, dead from the freezing weather.  
The stallion, a massive pony with rippling muscles and long, shaggy hair, shivered as he studied his two dead mares. They were old, over twenty-years-old, and weak already. It made since they would be the first to go. The lead mare let out a nervous whinny without meaning to, then stood stalk still as she listened through the pelting rain to hear if anyone answered her. No one did. They were too cold to answer, too weak to move, too hungry to care. At last, the stallion stood tall and shook his skin. He was tired of the cold weather. He was sick of his herd freezing. What if all the mares and foals died? What if he died? Then where would they be?  
With a trumpet of rage directed at the Storm, the stallion-named Gleam for the gleaming beauty of his sleek, black coat-began to move toward the tunnel leading out of the valley. The mares stared after him, concerned and confused. He made it to the first fallen tree and leaped over it, landing on his knees in the mud on the other side. He rose to his feet shakily and shook his skin again, making his wet mane slap his neck. He looked over the tree trunk at his herd and whinnied a high, wind-piercing whinny at them. They all started moving toward their protector, nervous and unsure. The lead mare took her place rounding the others up, nipping them when they fell behind, making sure foals stayed with their mothers. When the herd reached the fallen tree, they all milled about, nervous and frightened. Gleam urged them to jump the log, but the foals were too tiny and weak. Sighing and sorrowful, the mares huddled together again to stay as warm as possible until the freezing weather killed them.  
Desperate, Gleam galloped through the rain to find another way for the mares to get through. The black stallion slid to a stop where two tree trunk had fallen against each other. There was a low, narrow hole just big enough for the four foals to fit through, and the trunk were small enough for the mares to jump. Excited, Gleam leaped the tree trunk and galloped to his herd. He convinced them to follow him to his discovery. When the herd got there, Gleam jumped to the other side and called to his herd. The lead mare, nuzzling her own filly, stepped toward the hole. She peered through and saw Gleam on the other side. Glad, the mare pushed her filly through and waited to see what would happen. Gleam saw the little girl and blew his warm breath on her, letting her know it was him and that she was safe. The chestnut colored filly pressed herself against Gleam's side and shivered in the cold, calling for her mother. A second foal appeared, the second filly. She was bigger then the lead mare's daughter and was dark bay. She hastened to touch noses with Gleam and her friend, then cowered next to them. The lead mare jumped the tree trunk and landed square in the mud, her knees buckling. She fell to on her face, then stood up and shook herself before rushing to her daughter and the other filly. Three more mares appeared, then the only colt. A few minutes later, the last filly and her mother appeared.  
When the herd had joined again, the set off toward the mouth of the tunnel. Once inside, then shook themselves until the rain droplets left their shaggy coats. Mothers groomed foals and Gleam checked on everyone, making sure they were safe. The lead mare-her dun coat still wet but not so terrible-trotted along the tunnel, her filly beside her. The other mares followed, their foals at their flanks, single file down the tunnel toward the meadow. Taking up the rear and nudging those that fell behind, Gleam made his way slowly out into the meadow. As if the tunnel was a magical portal to another world, the meadow was bright and warm. Moonlight glowed down on the soaked ponies and the grass was tall and sweet. Happy to be rid of the terrible, frightening storm, the ponies bucked and frolicked. The foals reared up at each other and danced around in the tall grass while their mothers began to graze contently. Gezel, the lead mare, trotted a circle around the herd, making sure everyone was accounted for, then fell to grazing beside Maggi, the dark bay mare with the colt. Maggi's son Sam nursed and stared at Gezel's filly, Lei. Farther out in the meadow, Jamie and Keevari, the two other fillies, played tag around their mothers, then settled down to rest. High on a hill, staring down at his small herd, Gleam glistened in the moonlight. He shook his skin once more, slashed his tail in the air, and cocked one leg. He relaxed. At last, his herd was safe, and happy.


End file.
